Ruvia's eyes narrowed as she regarded the boy before her. "I'm… genuinely amazed. For someone of your age to craft a skill this lethal—and wield it with such precision—it's remarkable."
Rowland inhaled deeply, steadying his stance, and replied, "I am honored to hear you say that."
Ruvia's gaze softened for a fleeting moment, curiosity and caution mingling in her expression. She advanced slowly, each step deliberate, her dual blades glinting under the light. "It seems… this technique exacts a significant toll on your body," she observed, noticing the subtle strain along his shoulders and the controlled rise of his chest.
Rowland tensed, a faint grimace crossing his face. "What can I do? It's still incomplete," he admitted, his voice calm, yet underlined with determination.
With measured intent, Ruvia stepped forward again. Then, in a sudden flash, a sharp line of air sliced toward her with a swift Shing! She barely managed to backstep, the edge grazing her shoulder and stomach. Her eyes widened, both impressed and alert.
"So fast…" she muttered, almost to herself. "But that speed… I can sense the strain it imposes."
A faint, calculating smile tugged at her lips. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Very well… let's see just how far this goes," she whispered, her stance steady, ready to test the limits of Rowland's skill.
Ruvia slid her foot backward, stretching it to the limit, her left leg bending as her muscles bulged with controlled power against her anchored right foot. Her face shone with the thrill of the fight.
"Blessing of the Gale," she muttered. A subtle breeze brushed past her, lifting her white-light blue hair, and in an instant, she dashed forward—leaving behind only a deep, spiderweb-like crack in the ground where she had stood.
Rowland's eyes followed her movements meticulously, anticipating where she would appear next. In a fleeting moment, an afterimage flickered before him.
"I've got you!" he shouted, releasing a lightning-fast thrust—but it struck only empty air. Ruvia had already moved to his right.
"There's no way I'll miss this time, Miss Icy Flower!" he growled, unleashing five lightning-precise thrusts. But again, each strike met only air. Rowland exhaled deeply, his body straining, fatigue creeping in from the rapid thrusts.
Behind him, Ruvia appeared, calm yet focused. She murmured, almost to herself, "I see… six… seven… no… nine… ten strikes. Thrusts you barely managed to release from that technique of yours."
Rowland grunted and retreated, putting distance between them. In the midst of his movement, he drew back his rapier and shouted, "Direneedle!" Driving the rapier forward with all his force.
Ruvia slid past the rapier effortlessly, letting her own blade glide along it and redirect its momentum back toward him. They froze, locked in that tense moment.
"That technique of yours… it requires a large amount of mana, doesn't it?" Ruvia asked, her tone sharp, her gaze piercing as she assessed him.
Rowland exhaled heavily, his chest heaving with exhaustion. "Yes," he admitted, letting out a long sigh. "I suppose… you've known it from the start, haven't you? Let me guess—you knew it all along but wanted to confirm it for yourself, am I right?"
Ruvia's eyes gleamed with amusement. Without a word, she twirled one of her blades, the rear edge snapping sharply toward Rowland's chin. He barely tilted his head back in time to avoid a crushing blow.
In the same motion, she spun her other blade, using the rear to strike at his shoulder.
"Guhk—!" Rowland grunted, staggering under the impact.
Before he could recover, Ruvia unleashed a rapid series of thrusts with the rear edges of her twin blades, each strike aimed at his stomach. Rowland struggled to block, but the sheer speed forced him to take hits he couldn't fully defend against.
"Sorry," Ruvia said, her voice calm yet firm, "I'm not interested in talking right now. But… I did gain some insight for my new skill, so I won't break your bones."
"Huh?" Rowland managed to gasp, confusion and fatigue mixing in his tone.
Ruvia's expression hardened, and she smirked slightly. "I will just pummel you hard enough, though."
Cairos raised his hand, projecting his voice across the ceremonial arena. "The winner of this match is… Ruvia!"
Ruvia gave a faint smirk, brushing a strand of her white-blue hair behind her ear. "Hmph… I enjoyed that… a little," she murmured, before turning and walking away with graceful composure.
Cairos continued, his gaze scanning the assembled nobles and spectators. "The next candidate, representing his house in the arena, will challenge another son of the Patriarch. From the House of Gieloreinnt, I present their heir: Erickson Gieloreinnt!"
The boy stepped forward confidently, his thick yet well-built frame carrying the weight of his long staff with ease. A small scar marred his cheek, his black-brown hair falling slightly over sharp, calculating black eyes. Every step he took echoed with quiet authority.
He paused at the left side of the arena, resting the staff lightly on his shoulder, and spoke calmly yet with measured weight:
"You can master the mountain… step by step. But some are born to leap across it in a single bound."
The crowd murmured in awe at the audacity in his words, and even the sons of the Patriarch exchanged glances, sensing the confidence and potential in this new challenger.
Cairos cleared his throat, preparing to announce the next match. "And his opponent for this round is—"
A soft voice interrupted from the sidelines. It was a maid, bowing quickly. "Young Lord Galleon is… unwell, sir. He cannot participate today. Please forgive me for the late notice."
Cairos' jaw tightened, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. Damn it… this will stain the Patriarch's name. People will talk… perhaps even spread rumors that the son of the Patriarch ran from the fight or feigned illness…
Erickson's black eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that so? Then I suppose nothing can be changed… looks like an easy victory for me," he said, letting out a low, confident chuckle.
Cairos raised his hand to speak again. "Very well… the winner of this third round will—"
A clear, determined voice cut through the arena. "I will participate in my brother's stead. Is that acceptable?"
All eyes turned. It was Lionel. His posture was calm, composed, his aura radiating quiet confidence.
Cairos froze for a moment. "But… you just fought moments ago. Are you not exhausted?"
Lionel's gaze didn't waver. "I didn't exert myself enough to grow tired."
Shock flickered across Cairos' face. This kid… he's really not tired…
He sighed, glancing toward the Patriarch. The Patriarch raised a hand in silent affirmation.
Cairos exhaled, running a hand down his face. "Very well. The Patriarch has agreed. You will perform in Young Lord Galleon's stead. But… are you certain there is nothing you wish to gain from this?"
A faint smirk appeared on Lionel's lips. "I'm a bit offended by that expression. I suppose he was underestimating our family's strength," he muttered as he stepped toward the arena. "Looks like I'll need to knock some sense into him myself."
The arena fell silent, tension thick in the air, as Lionel's resolve set the stage for the next clash.
The two walked toward the center of the arena, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.
Lionel broke the quiet first, his voice calm but edged with challenge. "So… you said hard work can never catch up to talent?"
Erickson let out a low, confident chuckle, gesturing to himself. "Yeah. That's right. No matter how hard you try, all you'll ever do is watch the back of someone born with true talent… like me."
Lionel's eyes narrowed, sharp and unwavering. "We'll see about that," he replied, his tone carrying a quiet promise.
They each stepped back to their respective positions, measuring the distance and preparing for the clash.
Cairos muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "These kids… they don't know how to calm down. Sigh… kids these days."
Cairos strode to the center of the arena, his robe swaying with each step. He raised his hand high, his voice booming across the coliseum.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Honored nobles! And our esteemed Patriarch!" He paused, letting the silence gather. "Thank you for your patience. Now—" his hand shimmered with mana, "—let us commence the third round of the Ceremonial of Swords!"
He brought his arm down with force.
BOOOOM!
A powerful gust of wind exploded outward, sweeping across the arena like a wave, kicking up dust and rattling the stands—an unmistakable signal that the bout had begun.
"Let the third match… BEGIN!" Cairos roared.
The sound of cheering thundered as the atmosphere tightened, and the two fighters readied themselves.